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Captain Jacques “Le Chanceux” (The Lucky) Tavernier is a pirate. He is not the bastard son of a wealthy duke, or some tortured hero in disguise on a noble quest. He is a pirate. He does and takes what he wants… and he wants Isabelle.

Isabelle is getting very tired of not controlling her own fate. First, her father ships her off to England to marry some decrepit lord, and now pirates have attacked the ship and taken her captive. No longer willing to be biddable and obedient, Isabelle decides to fight the pirate captain at every turn, even when his forceful seduction and creative punishments give as much pleasure as pain.

The fate of Isabelle’s companion, Marina, is no better. Claimed by not one but two pirates to be used for their own dark pleasure.

Isabelle is playing a dangerous game. Denying a pirate something he wants is never a good idea, especially when that pirate is powerful, handsome and determined to bend you to his will. Will Isabelle’s pirate captor become her master, or will she capture his heart?

This book is a re-release of the previously titled, “Captive of Chance”.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The alarm bell startled the two women out of a deep, if not restful, sleep. Sitting up in their cots, they looked about the small cramped cabin in confusion.
“What could it be, miss?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea, but there is only one way to find out.”
Isabelle grabbed her dressing gown from the end of the cot and swung it over her shoulders as she approached the cabin door. She felt a tug on her nightgown and looked to see her companion, Marina, holding tight.
“Don’t do it, miss. Let’s just stay here till the captain comes.”
Pulling the fabric free, Isabelle continued to the door. “Posh! If there is something truly going on, we cannot wait for that old blowhard to come and let us know!”
Isabelle, well to be correct, Esmerelda Leonor Isabelle Catalina de Recalde el Rojo, did not cower easily. Perhaps it was her father’s Spanish blood or even her mother’s English courage. One thing was certain, she did not possess the gentile temperament of the typical female or the patience, for that matter.
Releasing the latch, she threw open the door to a chaotic scene.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Seaman were scrambling about in various states of undress while the cabin boy, who had been bringing them their meals during the long voyage, vigorously rang the sleep depriving bell.
“All hands! All hands on deck! Captain’s orders!” he shouted over and over again.
“You there. Boy! Boy!” shouted Isabelle. “Yes, you!” she clarified when he gave her a confused look as if surprised to see a partially dressed woman addressing him. “What is going on?”
“Pirates! There are pirates! We’re about to be attacked! Best get back inside and bar the door,” said the boy impatiently as he went back to his duty.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Isabelle quickly shut the door, threw the latch and turned and braced her back against it for good measure.
“Oh lord! Oh lord! Oh lord!” wailed Marina. She had signed on as companion to the fancy lady for a bit of adventure and fun. True she was hoping to catch the eye of some strapping young seaman because what was adventure without a lusty man by your side, but she did not sign up for pirates!
“Stop that nonsense, Marina! I need to think,” groused Isabelle. Then feeling poorly for shouting at her frightened companion, she crossed the cabin and gave her a quick hug.
“We cannot panic. The captain may be a slovenly man, but he runs a good merchant ship. I’m sure they are prepared and have fought off, well, hundreds of pirate attacks with great success.” Isabelle said with a false sense of confidence.
“Do you really think so, miss?” asked Marina, her eyes filled with hope and fear.
No. “Why of course, I think so!” she said with authority. “Now help me out of my nightgown and into my corset and dress. If we are to be attacked, I don’t want them finding me in my skivy!”
Marina went to do as she was bid while Isabelle was left to ponder for a moment the real possibility of being taken captive by pirates. Her father was a wealthy Spanish noble. Ransom would not be an issue. She could provide the pirates with plenty of gold and jewels, but was that all they would ask of her? She shuddered at the thought.
How bitterly ironic, Isabelle thought. When she set out on this journey, her every thought was how very much she did not want to reach her destination. Fate was cruel. Isabelle had been forced by her parents to leave her beloved warm and sunny Azores islands to travel to cold and dank England to become the betrothed of some stodgy, old English lord. Even the painted miniature he had sent with his marriage proposal showed a thin hairline and at least two chins. One had to assume the painter was being judiciously kind, and in actuality her betrothed had even less hair and probably one or two additional chins!
She had begged, pleaded, stormed and stomped but to no avail. Her parents were stalwart. She would marry the English lord and secure an English title for the family. Her parents also felt Isabelle’s upbringing on the somewhat remote colony island was leading to “unladylike” behavior as her mother put it. They were sending her back to the continent not a moment too soon in their minds.
So it was Isabelle, who found herself alone with only a hired companion for company on a merchant vessel bound for England. In the hold were trunks of silks, jewels and gold. Her dowry. Her father had chosen the well-armed vessel to carry his precious cargo. The galleon had at least fifteen guns. But would it be a match for a pirate ship?
“Not that one, Marina,” said Isabelle when a satin walking dress was pulled out of their trunks. “The heavy worsted wool one.”
“What, miss?”
“The worsted wool one!” shouted Isabelle.
The noise and clamor all around them was getting louder. Above their heads they could hear the pounding of boots and the screeching scrape of wood on metal as the thirty-six pound long guns were rolled towards the gun ports. Indistinct shouts and curses filtered through the wooden beamed ceiling of their cabin. Even without hearing the words, both women could tell from the excited tenor of the shouts, the seamen were scared.
“Hurry, Marina! Hurry!” urged Isabelle.
When both women were dressed in their warmest gowns, they sat on the cot and waited and listened. All the harried activity had suddenly stopped. There was a strange, tense calm.
BOOM! Silence. BOOM!
The women screamed and held their hands over their ears as the whole ship shook and rattled as each long gun was fired. Dust and debris were shaken loose from the ceiling and fell down on them like rain. Marina clutched desperately at the lapels of Isabelle’s dress. Isabelle held the frightened woman tightly to her side. Rubbing a soothing hand down her back, she said, “The sound of the guns is a good thing. I’ll bet they are sending those nasty pirates scattering away.”
Marina raised her head off Isabelle’s shoulder and gave her a look filled with doubt. Isabelle’s attempt to soothe and calm had fallen short. Unfortunately, even she didn’t believe her words anymore.
Her inherent lack of patience came to the fore. Isabelle jumped up and grabbed Marina’s hand. “Come. We cannot stay here like two geese for the slaughter!”
“But where are we to go? It must be safer in the cabin!” complained Marina.
“If they take the ship, they will search the cabins and the hold for treasure. We must find a place to hide where they will not think to look. Hopefully, none of the seamen will betray there are women on board. Now come on!” shouted Isabelle as she forcibly dragged a trembling Marina out the cabin door.
The passageway was strangely quiet compared to the chaos moments before. All the men were above deck fighting off the attack. Isabelle continued to drag Marina down the passageway where they came to a steep wooden ladder leading down to the hold. “This way. Mind your skirts,” ordered Isabelle as she awkwardly descended the ladder. Reaching the wooden floor beneath, she helped Marina on the last few rungs. Taking a look around the dimly lit interior, Isabelle saw the entire space stacked with crates, provisions for the voyage, and trunks. Somewhere in this mess was her dowry trunk, she thought queerly.
“This should be a good hiding place,” offered Marina as she took in all the dark nooks and crannies.
“Usually I would agree, but they will probably come straight to the hold to see what cargo the vessel is carrying. We would be found out. No,” said Isabelle, “we have to go further. Somewhere they won’t think to look.”
Isabelle tried to calm herself and think back to all those boring dinners in the officer’s quarters she had suffered through the past few weeks. They often talked about the ship.
“The bilge!” said Isabelle. “We need to head to the bilge.”
“The bilge? That sounds awful!” whined Marina.
“If what I remember from the officer’s comments, I’m afraid it is going to smell even worse.” groaned Isabelle.
They stumbled and groped their way through the hold, making their way to the back and the side of the ship.
“The bilge is the lowest part of the ship and quite nasty with water and such. There will be no reason for the pirates to go there,” explained Isabelle as she tried not to breathe through her nose the closer they got.
Leaning against the side of the ship, she gingerly stepped into the cold, foul smelling water and lowered herself into a crouch. Pulling Marina down by her side, once again they waited and listened. The sounds of battle were muffled from their low perch. They could better hear the lapping of the waves against the side of the ship. After what seemed liked hours, even the faint sounds of gunfire died out. As much as they were praying for the roaring sounds to cease, the silence was worse. Much worse.
The women were left to wonder what was happening far above them. Had they won? Isabelle cursed her current fate under her breath.

USA Today and International Best Selling Author in Dark Romance: Zoe Blake

We are all attracted to the forbidden. Addicted to the rush we get from reading something naughty…something kinky. We love to lose ourselves in the fantasy. The powerful lord who sweeps the lady away to his remote estate to ravish her. The cowboy who takes the sassy city girl over his knee to teach her a lesson. The devilishly charming pirate who seduces his beautiful captive. I write those erotic fantasies.

When 21-year-old Bridget Littleton decides to borrow her father’s yacht and sail off of the tip of Florida toward Bermuda, she discovers that the legends about the Bermuda Triangle are very true.
After seeing a face in the ocean waves, her next memory is of spinning water and blackness. She awakens in the town of Bristol England in the year 1532.
Rumors of her beauty reach the court, and soon Bridget, known as Bridge, finds herself in the court of Henry VIII and Lady in Waiting to none other than Anne Boleyn.
Will she get out alive? Will she accidentally change the course of history, or is she indeed a part of the history she has studied since she was a little girl?

Giveaway #1:

Purchase the book and be entered into an exclusive giveaway with TWO winners!
One winner will get $25 Amazon,
the other winner gets a renaissance style Kindle cover! ($40 value)Email your proof of purchase to silver_dagger_scriptorium@outlook.com
Be sure to write “Circle of Time” in the subject line so it won’t get overlooked!
The first 10 people to submit proof of purchases will get a free ebook of their choice from the author, Debra!!
Winners for the gift card and kindle cover will be randomly chosen during the month on an unannounced surprise day!
Don’t miss out and submit your proof early!
You can get the book HERE.

Born in Columbus, Ohio, Commissioned Kentucky Colonel, Honorable Debra Shiveley Welch, resides in Central Ohio with her husband Mark and son Christopher, an author and photographer.
Author of seven books and a bevy of short stories and poems, Debra is the winner of Books and Authors best Native American Fiction, AllBooks Review Editor’s Choice, Faithwriters Gold Seal of Approval – Outstanding Read, Books and Authors Best Non-Fiction Book and Excellence in Literature awards and is a medalist in the New Apple Award for Excellence.
Debra is now working on “Brave Heart Woman,” third in the “Cedar Woman” series, “Memories of an Old Farm House,” a micro memoir about her memories of her family’s ancestral farmhouse situated on a hill across from Serpent Mound in Southern, Ohio and “Christopher’s Family Table,” a cookbook featuring recipes from Chopped Champion Christopher Thames and Chopped Champion Junior, Daniel Kligmann.

Bridget Littleton raised her face to the darkening sky. Stars sparkled and shone, accentuating the soft feel of the salt-scented air. Leaning against the rail of her father’s luxurious yacht, she gave herself up to the gentle listing of the ship, enjoying the sound of the slap of the waves against the yacht’s steel hull. To her left, a seagull flew – just at eye level, so close that she could hear it pull the wind beneath its snowy wings. Intermittently, the maritime bird would glide and soundlessly ride the air currents, like a silent phantom above the blue-green waves of the sea. Flap, glide, dip and climb, her airborne companion followed the yacht for a short time, then soared off in the quest of an aquatic snack. She’d brought an opened bottle of red wine to the aft deck of the yacht. There comfortable chairs and couches were placed for the ease of her father’s friends and clients. She still wasn’t sure as to how she was able to convince her father to let her use his yacht, but she was grateful. The Bridget, so named by her late mother, was a large, well-appointed vessel, its primary use being for the entertainment of her father’s business associates. Somehow she persuaded him to lend it. She preferred this part of the large, luxurious yacht, preferred to see where she had been rather than where she was going. She’d always felt that way, felt the pull of a past she couldn’t quite bring into focus. Lifting a crystal goblet to her lips, she drank of the Bordeaux she preferred, savoring the taste of black cherry on her tongue. She held the wine there for a few seconds, savoring the taste, then let it slip down her throat, enjoying the chocolate finish of the wine. The evening was a little cool, pleasantly so, and there was a slight wind carrying the scent of salt, a briny perfume she found enticing, seducing. She loved the smell of the sea. To her, it was a fragrance that called up phantoms of memories she could not quite grasp. The wind began to pick up, and as her hair lifted in response to its urging, she shook her head, reveling in the feel of soft hair moving against her neck and shoulders. She delighted in the wind in her hair – enjoyed the pull of it, the slight tug as hair and wind became playmates, dancing around her neck and cheeks, then billowing upward creating a silky parachute of silver and gold. Leaning her head back, she again looked up into the vast dome of sky above her. She loved to be at sea. She felt as if someone were calling to her; the pull of the sea was as strong and as insistent as a lover. Footsteps caused her to turn from the rail. “Ah, Liam, good evening.” She smiled in greeting as one of her guests approached her – a second bottle of wine in one hand and a shawl in the other. “I was afraid that you may catch a chill, Bridget. The wind is picking up.” “Please, call me Bridge. Thank you, Liam. That was kind.” Both turned to the rail and observed the wake of the boat as it made its progress. “Aren’t we in the Bermuda Triangle?” Liam asked. “Yes, we are. Not afraid are you?” Bridge teased. “Nah – not really.” Liam chuckled but finally admitted, “Well, not too nervous anyway. “Say, this is some yacht your dad has here. Who named it The Bridget?” “My mother did when I was born.” “I see. Not bad to have a whole luxury yacht named after you.” They fell silent as both gave in to the beauty of the night and the softness of the breeze. Bridge lifted her glass for another sip and Liam noticed a ring on the middle finger of her left hand as she raised it to her lips. The kiss of the moon’s ethereal rays made the stones dance with light as if it were enchanted. “Wow, Bridge, beautiful ring.” “Thank you. It was my mother’s. By tradition, it is given to the eldest daughter of the eldest son. There is some kind of mystery to it. My ancestress through my mother, Bridget Lyttleton, supposedly owned it. That is why I’m named Bridget, by the way. My father’s name is John, and he is also a Littleton, but my parents are something like seventh cousins. Anyway Bridget’s father-in-law was named John, as was her husband, Sir John, actually, and my mother thought it would be nice to honor her, especially since the ring originated with her. So Bridget I am, but of course it got shortened to Bridge.” “Well, it certainly is a beautiful ring. The gold is exquisite and, those are rubies, right?” “Yes. Actually, it’s a Tudor Rose.” For the second time that evening she held up her hand. The moonlight again caressed the stones and they seemed to come alive. Set in heavy gold, the center gem was a perfect four grain (equivalent to a karat) pearl surrounded by five slightly smaller rubies which shimmered in the moonlight. It was stunning, but Bridget measured its value by the previous owner, her mother, who wore it on the same finger until she died of cancer when Bridge was three. “Tudor Rose?” “Yes, it’s a rather long story, but basically, a rose bush bloomed with both red and white petals signifying the union of two royal houses. Don’t get me started or I’ll talk for hours about it. My hobby is Tudor history,” she laughed. “Oh, this may interest you,” Bridge said. Lifting the shawl she now wore and showing him an unusual brooch which was pinned to her gown. “Hey, that’s an interesting piece of jewelry you have there.” Bridget glanced down at the pin and smiled. “Yes. Actually, it has an amusing story behind it. “Upon hearing that I was intending a cruise which necessitated my basically staying within the Bermuda Triangle, my friend Cynthia became frightened. It is superstitious nonsense, of course, but what can you do? “So, she went to Tiffany’s and had it made for me as a good luck talisman.” “What is it? I can’t quite see.” “It’s a sixteenth-century ship. She knows of my love of Tudor history and this is a replica of one of Henry VIII ships named the Mary Rose, after his favorite sister. Here, dangling from the figurehead is a diamond. Supposedly representing the North Star. Here on the back of the ship, on the quarter-deck, is a woman. I guess that’s supposed to be me. “These scrolls along the water line are waves and represent that the ship is in a storm, but the woman will be safe because she has the North Star to guide her. She calls it the ‘Storm Tossed Ship’. “Oh!” Bridge exclaimed as the yacht lurched. The wind, heretofore a gentle breeze, was picking up, and the sea was becoming choppy. The shawl which Liam brought to Bridge rose into the air. She made an attempt to catch it, slipped and almost fell into the sea, the goblet of wine crashing to the deck with a splintering sound of shattering glass as red wine coursed down the planks in blood red streams. The wind increased and began to howl. “Bridge!” Liam yelled. Grabbing her arm, he attempted to keep her from sliding over the rail as the yacht tossed and pitched as if it were deliberately trying to throw her overboard. Below her, Liam watched in horror as a whirlpool appeared starboard, and like a tornado, began to draw Bridge into its depths. He held on frantically, his eyes stretched wide as he looked into Bridge’s fear-filled face. Slowly her arm began to slip from his hands until ………….

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The Suspect’s Daughter by Donna Hatch

Determined to help her father with his political career, Jocelyn sets aside dreams of love. When she meets the handsome and mysterious Grant Amesbury, her dreams reawaken. But his secrets put her family in peril.

Grant goes undercover to capture conspirators avowed to murder the prime minister, but his only suspect is the father of a courageous lady who is growing increasingly hard to ignore. He can’t allow Jocelyn to distract him from the case, nor will he taint her with his war-darkened soul. She seems to see past the barriers surrounding his heart, which makes her all the more dangerous to his vow of remaining forever alone. Jocelyn will do anything to clear her father’s name, even if that means working with Grant. Time is running out. The future of England hangs in the balance…and so does their love.

Donna Hatch, author of the best-selling “Rogue Hearts Series,” has won writing awards such as The Golden Quill and the International Digital Award. A hopeless romantic and adventurer at heart, she is a sought-after workshop presenter, and juggles multiple volunteer positions and her six children. A native of Arizona who recently transplanted to the Pacific Northwest, she and her husband of over twenty years are living proof that there really is a happily ever after.

3. What is the thing you struggle with the most while writing? And how do you defeat it?

Confidence is a major stumbling block. I always worry that my books aren’t good enough and that my latest manuscript–whatever it is–is the most ridiculous, worthless drivel that has ever had the misfortune of being put on a page. I usually overcome it by talking to a critique partner. Reading fan mail sure helps, too.

4. What kind of music do you listen to while you write?

I like either classical music or new age–nothing with lyrics or a drum beat. There’s a Pandora station called Regency Classical that I like to listen to while I write those first few chapters. It help me create that believable Regency feel.

Snippet:

She glanced back at the doorway. He had arrived. With hair as dark as a starless night, a tall figure clad almost entirely in black strode toward them. Something shifted inside her and she took a step back from his presence of power. As he neared, his air of deadliness swept ahead of him like a giant clearing the path. Piercing gray eyes set in his fearsomely handsome face caught and held her gaze as he drew nearer.
She chided herself. Grant Amesbury had protected her. Why everything about him seemed so deadly tonight, she couldn’t explain, but she surely had nothing to fear from him. Firmly wearing the role of hostess, she moved to welcome him. He was dressed in beautifully tailored clothing, as fashionable as the clothes he’d worn the night he’d brought home Jonathan. His new haircut and style gave him Town polish.
“Welcome, Mr. Amesbury.” She sank into a curtsy.
He inclined his head. “You look lovely.” The words fell awkwardly from his lips as if he’d rehearsed them. She doubted he often paid compliments to anyone.
“How kind of you to say.”
He paused and focused on her. Something changed in his expression. He studied her in a way that sent heat from her face clear down to her toes. Oh heavens, if these were the kind of looks he was capable of giving, he clearly was dangerous to ladies, but not in the way she’d thought.
Her attention zeroed in on his lips, and hers tingled in response. Powerless under his stare, she wrenched her gaze from his and nervously touched her brooch as if to assure herself it remained in place, anything to restore her good sense, which had quite literally failed her for a moment.

Guinevere by Cheryl Carpinello

At the dawn of Camelot, one young girl is about to take her place beside the greatest king in England’s history….

She is a mere child of twelve. But in these medieval days, this is the age when childish things must be put away and greater responsibilities accepted—all in preparation for a betrothal of marriage.

For young Lady Guinevere, on the advent of her thirteenth Birth Day, the whole idea is quite unbearable. After all, what could be better than spending her youth playing with her best friend Cedwyn, roaming the grounds around the castle looking for mythical creatures or hunting rabbits?

However, the wizard Merlyn—her teacher and friend—knows that destiny has a way of catching up with a person. His arrival sets in motion a series of events that will lead Guinevere to her destiny whether she is ready for it or not.

I am retired high school English teacher. A devourer of books growing up, my profession introduced me to writings and authors from times long past. Through my studies and teaching, I fell in love with the Ancient and Medieval Worlds. Now, I hope to inspire young readers and those Young-at-Heart to read more through my Quest Books set in these worlds.

I also conduct Medieval/Short Story Writing Workshops in Elementary/Middle School classes. Contact me if you are interested in holding a workshop for students: ccarpinello@mac.com.

3. What is the thing you struggle with the most while writing? And how do you defeat it?

My biggest struggle is figuring out how to get my characters to the next pivot point in my stories. That’s when I put down pen and paper and spend time going over different scenarios in my head. Sometimes that takes a few hours, but usually it’s a few days.

4. What kind of music do you listen to while you write?

My favorites are Mumford and Sons and Of Monsters and Men.

Snippet:

At the bottom of the stairs, Guinevere paused and peeked out the door. Seeing no one, she stepped out into the bailey, thankful for the clouds that hid the moon. Focused on the outer door across the courtyard, she missed seeing the figure that slid out of the shadows and followed her.
Guinevere glanced once more around the bailey as she reached the outer door. The shadow following her hugged the building as the moon drifted out from the clouds. She crept through the door and turned to the right. Keeping in the shadows and close to the stable wall, she managed to work her way to about twenty yards from the edge of the forest. Taking a furtive look around, she stole across the open grass and slipped into the trees.
As she disappeared from view, the figure following her moved through the outer door. As Guinevere had done, this figure kept close to the stable wall, staying within the shadows and watching the tree line for any movement. Seeing nothing, the shadowy figure moved out into the moonlight, revealing himself to any who happened to be watching, but there were none. Those not in bed stayed in the hall enjoying themselves too much to venture out into the late night. The moonlight bounced off his grey gown and illuminated his white hair, making it appear ghostly. Merlyn quickened his pace, not wanting to fall too far behind.
Guinevere crept along the forest path. The fragrance of wet pine filled her senses. Suddenly, the faint sound of a voice off to her right reached her ears. She turned and moved cautiously through the trees and brush. The calming quality of the voice dispelled her fears. As she moved closer, the voice’s volume increased very little. Whoever it belonged to continued to whisper to someone, although Guinevere heard only the one voice.
Through the leafy oak branches, Guinevere made out the shape of a tall, slender woman dressed in a white hooded robe. Edging closer she saw that the woman stood in a small clearing. Moonlight filtered down, descending almost like a halo around her. With the woman’s hood up, Guinevere was unable to discern any other physical features. The woman continued to talk to someone concealed by her body. Intrigued, Guinevere moved closer, careful not to make any noise. While the woman did not move, from time to time her arms reached out in front of her, for some reason unknown to Guinevere.

The continuing saga of the deadly young warrior who will one day challenge Rome for the supremacy of her world. As the dynamic girl continues her education in Egypt, for a time she is diverted from her warrior path. Complicating Zenobia’s life is a budding romance with her brilliant and charismatic instructor. The challenge – he is the scholar, she the warrior. Can they blend their worlds to become the most exciting couple in Alexandria?

Learning of a slave trade in kidnapped young women, Zenobia determines to free the oppressed. Warrior skills will not be enough. Her new challenge – to become a pirate, then a temptress in her fight for justice.

Zenobia- Born in the Syrian Desert; Educated in Alexandria, Egypt. History describes her eyes as captivating, almost like they sparkled. She’s strikingly beautiful with black long hair to the middle of her back, soft brown skin that appears flawless. Zenobia has a strong love of justice. She’s a critical thinker, calculating, and deadly.

Zelina is Zenobia’s mother. She’s pretty with dark features and very intelligent. She’s married to Sheik Zabbai, the leader of the Syrian tribe. Zelina likes the finer things in life but she isn’t too worldly.

Cam is a Syrian warrior and the Sheik’s right hand man. He’s powerful and wise and a deadly archer. He’s seen many battles. He mentors Zenobia.

Longinus is a professor in Alexandria, Egypt. Most days you will find him philosophizing in his white toga and sandals. He’s known as a walking encyclopedia. Zenobia is the most extraordinary woman he’s ever met.

Salim is a Syrian warrior. Zenobia and Salim became friends while training as warriors.

Shanzar is a Syrian warrior and Salim’s friend. He’s a great cook.

Tyrianna is kidnapped into a sex slave trade. She is trying to escape and return to her family in Nubia.

Patricia is kidnapped into a slave trade. She becomes friends with Tyrianna.

Russ Wallace is life-long student of history, religion, politics, and social issues. As an instructor, he came to value the critical thinking so necessary to navigate the minefields of propaganda while searching for truths. As a world traveler, Russ learned the opposing views and prejudices underlying many of the problems in human society, ancient and modern.

He employs a vivid imagination to fill in the life of Zenobia, a real historical figure and one of the most fascinating women who ever lived. He is working on future books in the Zenobia book series.

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In the 3rd century a girl of uncommon abilities was born in the desert wilderness of Syria. Rescued from death by her courageous mother, Zenobia masqueraded as a boy to stay alive. She grew up to become one of the toughest, deadliest women who ever lived.

Brilliant and beautiful, Zenobia carried the greatest female military mind in history. She eventually came to control the second most powerful army in the world. When her love of justice brought her into conflict with the strongest empire on earth, she set her sights on the greatest conquest of all – Rome.

This book traces Zenobia’s life from age nine to fifteen, setting the stage for her amazing rise to power. It includes the beginnings of her legend and her budding romances.

At a surprisingly early age, Zenobia had grasped and embraced the role laid out for her preservation. This lit a fire that would burn deep inside her for the rest of her life, a desire to prove that a girl could be just as valuable as a boy, and a woman just as valiant and skilled as a man.

Zenobia – Birth of a Legend, Chapter 25:

Suddenly it came – a roar reverberating the ground. Jumping up she yelled, “Bethy, come!” She did not want her mare to bolt in panic through the fence and straight into the fangs and claws of a lion. Bethy trotted over nervously and Zenobia said, “Good girl. Bethy, hold!” Several of the horses began to whinny and run around the corral, but Bethy held her place by her mistress. Zenobia moved into the corral while straining to see into the darkness. Then she saw them – spread out before her three sets of large yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. It was the most threatening sight she had ever seen.

Russ Wallace is life-long student of history, religion, politics, and social issues. As an instructor, he came to value the critical thinking so necessary to navigate the minefields of propaganda while searching for truths. As a world traveler, Russ learned the opposing views and prejudices underlying many of the problems in human society, ancient and modern.

He employs a vivid imagination to fill in the life of Zenobia, a real historical figure and one of the most fascinating women who ever lived. He is working on future books in the Zenobia book series.